The smell of damp earth and stale blood clung to the air, it drifted over the worn banners lining Nirvana's Depth.
The Resistance encampment was alive with the rhythmic clang of steel. Iron and burnt coals filled the air with a familiar, heavy scent. It clung to the walls of the forge, settling into the very stones that had withstood war and ruin. Sparks flew as a hammer struck glowing steel, sending an echo through the cavernous space.
Kazim stood by the entrance, observing.
The blacksmiths of Nirvana's Depth were the backbone of the Resistance. Swords, shields, even the complex warding sigils that strengthened the stronghold, all were forged here. Without them, his warriors would be unprotected against the increasing raids of the Nyxborn.
A broad-chested canine, his apron dusted with soot, caught sight of him first. "Alpha," he called, bowing his head before returning to his work. Others quickly followed suit, some pausing mid-strike to nod in respect. The forge master, an older human with a scarred face and a missing hand replaced by a mechanical construct stepped forward.
"We've reinforced the silver-edge plating on the border scouts' weapons," the forge master reported, wiping sweat from his brow. "The last batch held, but it wore down quicker than expected. We'll need more raw ore."
Kazim nodded, running a hand over the cooled blade of a newly crafted longsword. "Send word to the scavenger guild. They'll make a supply run to the fallen mines at dawn."
The forge master hesitated. "Alpha…we lost a team to a Voidforged ambush last time."
Voidforged, they had a peculiar attachment to mines and metals.
A muscle in Kazim's jaw clenched. He was aware of it. Aware of every loss. "I'll send a hunting squad with them."
It wasn't enough. The mines lay too close to the Voidforged territories, and with the blood moon approaching, the creatures would be restless. But without steel, without weapons infused with the burning runes of the Duskborn, they were as good as dead.
The forge master exhaled and nodded. "It'll be done."
Kazim moved deeper into the stronghold after his inspection, walking through the central district where the guilds under his rule worked together in harmony. The blacksmiths were only one part of the machine that kept the Resistance afloat.
The Scavenger Guild, rogues and salvagers who combed ruins and battlefields for supplies.
The Healers, comprised of Tideborn alchemists, Duskborn rune-smiths, and human medics working in grim unison.
The Wardens, the closest thing to a law enforcement, ensuring internal order.
The Hunters, the frontline of their force, the ones who thinned the herds that wandered too close to their borders.
Kazim oversaw them all. Each decision, each gamble, each fight they waged against the closing darkness, it all fell to him
Yet today, his thoughts were consumed by something far worse.
The blood moon.
It was coming. He could feel it creeping into his bones, an illness brewing under his skin. The throbbing in his head had changed from dull to piercing, now a gnawing ache. His senses, always sharp, were now too sharp, every sound a searing echo, every scent an overpowering assault.
He could feel it, writhing beneath his skin like a sickness that could not be purged. It started with a dull hum in his bones, an ache in the marrow that spread like frostbite. His heartbeat was erratic, his breath shallow. The sensation roiled in his belly, curled around his ribcage, whispering to him like a voice from the abyss. It was always this way before the transformation. Always this way before he lost himself.
He caught the whispered prayers of the Tideborn, the far-off shouts of warriors enjoying a brief moment of humor before dusk. But Kazim walked through it all as though behind a veil, every sound fading beneath the constant, sinister beat of his own heart.
He passed through the training grounds, where warriors of every race honed their skills. Normally, he would pause to spar, to offer critique. Today, he only nodded at them, knowing his distraction was obvious.
The gathered warriors acknowledged him as he passed, their gazes reverent, unaware. They saw their Alpha, their leader, the one who had defied the Nyxborn and carved out their last sanctuary in a dying world. They did not see the cracks beneath the surface. They did not see the way his fingers trembled before he curled them into fists.
A hand caught his wrist as he turned toward the war room.
"You need to focus," Idris murmured, his voice low. No one else would have dared touch him. "I can hear your heartbeat from across the courtyard. It's racing."
Kazim jerked his hand free. "I'm fine."
He wasn't.
Idris's golden eyes flickered with doubt. "Everything is ready. The cave, the chains. You don't have to wait until the last moment."
Kazim exhaled slowly. "I have to hold out as long as I can."
Idris studied him, then nodded once. He understood. Kazim had responsibilities. He could not abandon them, not until the very last moment.
"They've finished reinforcing the western perimeter," Idris reported, his tone even. "Another warding stone has been placed. The breaches should slow, for now."
Kazim nodded. "Good."
Idris tilted his head slightly. "You're still unfocused."
A statement, not a question.
Kazim exhaled, gaze shifting to the horizon where the sun bled its final light across the sky. The faintest sliver of crimson had begun to taint the clouds. He could feel it creeping closer, seeping into his veins.
"The warriors think it's the breaches," Idris continued. "That you're restless because the Shroudborn are growing bolder."
Kazim's lips pressed into a thin line.
Let them think that. Let them believe he was simply troubled by the state of the war, by the constant threat of the Nyx clawing at their doorstep. Anything was better than the truth.
The sun was setting when Kazim finally left the stronghold. Alone. He did not need to give orders; Idris would cover for him.
He moved through the mist-laden trees, the barrier loomed ahead, shimmering with faint arcane light, a wall between their world and the cursed abyss beyond. He walked through the warding stones, felt the tremor of resistance before it allowed him through into enemy territory.
Nether-night lay out before him, a ravaged wasteland where the sky burned red and black flame and where the earth was marred by the ruin of a war that had never truly ended. Here, he was not Alpha. He was not a savior. Here, he was nothing but another beast in the dark.
The cave loomed ahead. A cold, empty place that reeked of death and old blood. Inside, chains gleamed in the dim light, he had forged them himself, reinforced with ancient sigils, tempered by Idris's magic...so potent, it could hold even him. He reached for them with steady hands, though his breaths were growing uneven. His vision blurred at the edges, the curse clawing at his mind.
His fingers barely locked the first shackle when it struck.
Agony lanced through him, stealing the breath from his lungs. His muscles spasmed, bones grinding, twisting, breaking. He bit down on his tongue hard enough to draw blood, refusing to scream. Not yet. Not yet.
His vision bled red. His skin burned, rippled, split apart to make room for something else. The monster he kept buried, the thing that had no name, no reason, only hunger.
He braced against the wall, forcing the final shackle closed around his wrist just as the change consumed him.
The cave filled with the sound of metal groaning under impossible strain, of breath turning to ragged growls, of a man vanishing into the thing he feared most.
He had fought for this world. Bled for it. And in return, it had left him this...a creature cursed to bear the same darkness he had sworn to destroy.
The first rays of the blood moon pierced the sky.
A guttural snarl tore from his throat. His vision darkened at the edges. Bones cracked, his body contorting as something wretched clawed to the surface.
Kazim gritted his teeth, fighting. Holding. But the beast within did not care for willpower.
A roar shattered the night.
And the monster took over.